


Troublemaker Frisk

by Carry_on_Wayward_Daughter



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Also a horrible teacher, GEEETTTTT DUNKED ON, I don't think I've ever wanted to punch a character so badly, Linda is LITERALLY the worst, Linda is a transphobic racist witch, Misgendering, PTA Sans, Post Pacifist Route, Racism, Sans isn't gonna put up with her shit, for real, seriously, she sucks, she's like evil incarnate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:00:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5625835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carry_on_Wayward_Daughter/pseuds/Carry_on_Wayward_Daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Frisk gets detention, Sans gets pissed, and Linda gets dunked on... hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troublemaker Frisk

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Undertale fic, hope y'all enjoy!

Sans wasn’t exactly expecting it when Frisk slammed the door to his car shut after they got in. Sure, the kid seemed a little miffed, but they usually were quiet and reserved when they were mad.

“You okay there, buddy?” he asked as they aggressively buckled their seat belt before slumping in their seat and crossing their arms and glaring straight ahead, their usual passive expression gone. Okay, so something was definitely up. “Hey, Frisk. What’s wrong?”

Frisk scowled and sat forward, hands trembling angrily as they tried to sign to him what had happened. The tremors were so bad that the only thing he could decipher from the gestures were “teacher” and “after school”. 

“Calm down, there, kiddo,” Sans said gently, putting a hand on their shoulder. “You’re gonna shake yourself into the void if you keep goin’ like that. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong, okay? Can you do that?”

Frisk swallowed heavily, then nodded, taking a deep breath.

“M-Mrs. J-J-Jennings… s-said th-that a kil-kilome-meter w-was longer than- than a m-mile, and- and I t-told her that she w-was wrong.” 

Sans groaned internally. Linda. Great. Just what he’d been hoping for; the woman who just  _ begged _ for a bad time every time she opened her ignorant, racist, ableist mouth at any PTA meeting or school event. She must have been subbing for Samara if she was teaching Frisk’s class at all.

“Yeah? I bet ol’ Linda didn’t like that, did she?” He could just picture her face going all red

“N-n-no, she d-didn’t,” Frisk replied angrily. “Sh- sh- she gave me d-d-detention an-and--”

“Wait,  _ what _ ?  _ Detention _ ? For  _ what _ ?”

“F-for ar-arguing w-with h-her. An- and sh-she wouldn’t st-stop--” 

Frisk was trying to get through their sentence, but they were struggling. They didn’t speak much, so when they did, it was always music to-- well, not his  _ ears, _ but close enough, and though they often stuttered, it was never nearly as bad as this. They could barely talk at all, their frustration was so bad.

“Calm down, calm down, it’s okay, kid, just breathe, alright? Just tell me when you can.”

They shook their head, then reached down and unzipped their bag before digging through it. After a few seconds, they came back up, a piece of paper clenched in their hand. They shoved it towards Sans, and he saw that it was a letter from none other than the Wicked Witch of the PTA herself.

 

_ Mrs. Dreemurr, _

_ You may already know this, but in case Frisk has neglected to tell you, I am assigning her to detention for one hour after school this Friday. The reason is as follows: _

_ Frisk consistently defied me. During class, she contradicted me numerous times when I insisted that the length of one kilometer was greater than that of one mile. Every other student in class accepted my lesson without argument, but your daughter refused to believe what I told her, offering such rebuttals as, “You’re lying to the class,” and commanding other students to challenge my curriculum. _

_ Although she was correct, Frisk’s actions show a blatant disregard for authority, and a complete lack of respect for her school. In the future, Frisk would be better off simply accepting my teaching without resistance. _

_ Please see to it that your daughter understands this. _

_ Regards, _

_ Linda Jennings _

 

By the time Sans finished reading, his eyes had gone dark and his hands were gripping the paper to the point that his bony finger tips were poking through and tearing it.

That- that-  _ woman _ had been teaching them  _ wrong, _ and when Frisk dared to correct her, she’d attacked them this way. Detention for being  _ right _ ? What kind of person  _ did _ that? And more than that, every time she misgendered Frisk in that damn letter, he wanted to Gaster Blast the hell out of her. The paper was wrinkled, the creases worn, and Sans knew that Frisk had read over it repeatedly, and he could only guess at how much the words had cut every time they read “she”, “her” or “daughter”.

Sans gritted his teeth and was barely able to keep himself from ripping that damned piece of paper apart and marching into the school to treat Linda to the same. Needless to say, he was  _ pissed. _ He’d  _ never _ wanted to lay into somebody as much as he wanted to tear Linda apart, limb from from limb. It wasn’t like anybody would actually  _ miss _ her, and Toriel could find someone else to sub for Samara, easy, maybe Alphys could do it--

“S-Sans?”

The skeleton looked over at Frisk, saw the worried look on their face, then looked down to the paper in his hands. 

His hands….

They were crackling with magic, the cracks between his bones and joints lighting up like a thunderstorm, and the edges of the letter curled inward, like it was being burned.

_ *Are you alright?* _ they signed nervously. The shaking in their hands had nearly stopped and their signing was much clearer and Sans could read them without much trouble.

“Yeah, kid,” he laughed, though it was forced. He tucked the letter into his jacket carefully; he was going to need it later. “Yeah, Frisk, that woman just gets under my skin, is all.”

_ *Sans, you don’t have any skin.* _

“Well, then I guess you could say she just rattles my bones.”

_ *Sans!* _

Frisk laughed and Sans couldn’t help the smile on his face at the sound. Amazing, what a simple joke or pun could accomplish when encouragement couldn’t help. Frisk was okay, and Sans knew one thing.

They  _ damn _ sure weren’t going to detention.

  
  


That Friday when Sans went to pick Frisk for Toriel, he had them sit down outside the classroom so that he could talk to Linda personally. Tori had offered to take care of it instead of Sans, but he’d told her he could handle it. Okay, so she’d  _ wanted _ to take care of it herself, but Sans could tell that if he let Toriel have at her, the woman wouldn’t survive.

And he  _ very _ much wanted Linda to survive  _ this. _

“Hey, Frisk, you got everything?”

_ *Yeah, but I’ve got detention, remember? I can’t leave yet.* _

“Yeah, you’re right, you can’t leave just yet, but you’re not goin’ to detention.” He ruffled their hair and at the confused expression on their face. “Don’t worry, buddo, I’ve got this covered.”

_ *Sans--* _

_ “ _ Don’t worry about it.”

Frisk pursed their lips and stared up at him suspiciously.

_ *What are you planning?* _

_ “Trust _ me, here, kid. I’m just gonna go talk to Miss Linda and get this all sorted out. Hey, don’t look at me like that. This is going  _ tibia _ piece of cake.”

Frisk giggled and Sans grinned, then turned them around and pushed them towards the chairs by the classroom door.

“Now, you just sit there and give me five minutes, alright? Then we’ll stop by Grillby’s on the way home.”

_ *What about Mom?* _

“Ah, she’s workin’ late tonight, so I thought we’d give her a break and just eat out… we’ll pick some snails, too, and make her a pie for when she gets home later. How’s that sound?”

_ *Okay… just… don’t get in any trouble.* _

Sans grinned.

“C’mon, kid, do you even  _ know _ who it is you’re talkin’ to?” Frisk sighed and slumped into the chair, pulling their bag into their lap.

_ *Yeah, I do,* _ they signed.  _ *Just try not to break anything. Mom’s not gonna be happy if she has to replace another classroom.* _

“Jeez, kid,” he complained lightly, ruffling their hair. “Your lack of faith hurts me, cuts me right down to the bone.”

_ *Just go,* _ they signed, giggling. * _ And hurry up; I’m hungry.* _

 

Sans just walked into the classroom, no knock, and closed the door hard behind him. Linda was putting papers away into the teacher's desk.

“Frisk, you may take a seat anywhere up front, and then--”

“How ya doin’ there, Linda?”

The woman looked up so quickly Sans was sure that her neck was going to snap. As soon as she saw him, she grimaced as though his presence physically pained her. Sans just grinned and plopped himself down in the chair in front of the desk, arm slung over the back.

“What do  _ you _ want, Sans?”

“Aww, what, I can’t drop by to see an old friend?”

“I’d hardly call us  _ friends _ , Femur,” she scoffed, slamming a drawer closed.

Sans gasped and clutched at the front of his shirt.

“Linda, sweetheart, you wound me. And here I thought we’d gotten  _ so close _ .”

“What do you  _ want _ , Sans?”

He sighed and sat forward.

“Alright, fine, then. Straight to the point. I’m not gonna lie, I admire that.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out her letter. “I’m here to talk about Frisk.”

Immediately, Linda straightened up, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face.

“Ah, yes, Frisk. I presume you’d like to discuss her behavior earlier this week?”

“ _ Their _ behavior, and, no, actually, I’d like to discuss  _ yours. _ ”

“Mine? I assure you, Sans, I have no idea what--”

“Cut the bullshit, Linda. You wanted it straight? I’m givin’ it to ya. What kind of  _ crap _ are you teachin’ these kids?”

“If you are referring to my lesson about kilometers versus miles--”

“I don’t give two shakes of a rat’s ass about whether or not a kilometer is longer than a mile-- which, by the way, a kilometer only covers  _ maybe _ 62% percent of a mile. No, what I’m talkin’ about is the way you’re treatin’ these kids, what you’re teachin’ ‘em about  _ life. _ ”

“What are you--”

Sans slammed his hands down on the desk and stood up quickly, the chair falling backwards.

“You’re teachin’ these kids to take what they’re told at face value, teachin’ ‘em not to question  _ anything _ . You expect them to listen to what they’re told and accept that as the one and only truth, and should anyone dare to stand up and challenge the system, they will be brought down and  _ punished. _ Anyone can make a mistake about kilometers and miles, I mean, hell, a kilometer sounds a shit ton longer than a mile, but you’re teachin’ these kids,  _ my kid _ , not to stand up for what’s right, whether it be some bullshit lesson or equality between monsters and humans.”

“Mr. Femur, your daughter--”

“And that’s  _ another _ thing! You keep misgendering my kid like it’s nobody’s business. Guess what, lady?” He leaned closer into Linda’s space. “Frisk is nonbinary. They don’t identify as male or female, boy or girl or anything in between. They don’t fit your gender binary and they won’t play into the roles that this screwed up society has set. If they decide to wear combat boots and trip pants, they’re still nonbinary. Tutus and ballerina slippers?  _ Still _ nonbinary. Gender identity isn’t something that should be assigned to a person at birth and enforced all throughout their life, and it’s not something that can be decided for a person by somebody else, least of all some bigoted, transphobic, small minded  _ substitute. _ ”

“Well I  _ never-- _ ”

“What, never thought? I don’t doubt it, what with you ‘curriculum’. And what the hell? The lesson plans for this week were simple  _ fractions,,  _  not percentages and miles. Samara had it all mapped out for this week, and deviating from that plan just makes the class fall behind and lose valuable time that could be used for preparing for all these damned standardized tests that you humans seem so fond of.”

“Sans, I really don’t think that any lesson plan put together by Mrs.  _ Gannowshi-- _ ”

“Gannouchi.”

“Whatever-- has anything to do with our current discussion--”

“It has  _ everything _ to do with our ‘current discussion’!” he shouted angrily as he dug his fingers into the wood of the desk. “It was your decision to deviate from Samara’s lesson that led  _ up _ to this discussion! Do you really think you know better than the actual teacher of the class?”

“That Arab has no business teaching the future of our country!”

Sans froze and felt the light fade from his eyes. He straightened up and glared down at the angry woman in front of him.

“So it all boils down to your racist bullshit.”

“It all boils down to my concern for the children. They are young, They could be corrupted, and with ISIS on the rise, I can’t--”

“If you would take even a  _ second _ to actually  _ look _ at the Quran, you’d realize that  _ ISIS _ isn’t a real Islamic group, but someone who wants to propagate a war between Islam and the Western civilization, and with people like  _ you _ , it’s no wonder they’re actually  _ succeeding _ . You wanna protect the kids from being  _ corrupted _ ?” He laughed harshly, causing Linda to flinch away from him. “ _ DON’T FEED THEM YOUR CRAPTASTIC WORLDVIEW. _ ”

“Even  _ you  _ can’t deny that radical Islam has become the main threat to--”

“Linda, Linda, honey, shut up. ‘Radical Islam’ does  _ not _ exist. Are there Arabic terrorists out there? Yes. But do you know how many mass shootings have been perpetrated by white males this last year? How many children have died at the hands of caucasian men with a gun?”

“You can’t expect me to know that, Mr. Femur.”

“But I can expect you to be an expert on Islamic terrorists and all they stand for?” He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. “Let me tell you, Linda, you got a problem with terrorists? Start looking at the men and women in your social circle and the ring of people you actually  _ do _ call friends. Anyone of them could be radical Christians. But Samara? She is a good, kind-hearted woman who  _ adores _ those kids and has only their best interests in mind. I can tell you, she has  _ never _ had a problem with Frisk standing up in the middle of class and telling her she’s wrong. If she’s made a mistake, so be it, she’s human.”

“And yet when  _ I _ make a mistake, I’m the devil incarnate?” she snorted. “This is just another example of reverse racism and I won’t stand for it.”

“Yeah, because that’s not a thing. No, you’re not the devil because you made a mistake, you’re the devil because of the way you handled it. Samara would have owned up to her mistake and thanked Frisk for pointing it out, but what you did was make these kids fear being right and pointing out the obvious, and  _ I _ won’t stand for  _ that. _ So I’m going to leave, because you and I? We’re done here, and I’m takin’ my kid-- not my daughter, my  _ kid--  _ and we’re goin’ to go get somethin’ to eat.”

“She still has detention--”

Sans glared at Linda, his eye glowing bright as he aimed his skeleton grin her way.

“Misgender my kid one more time,” he said calmly. “I dare you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and sat back in her chair.

“Fine,” she huffed. “ _ They _ still have detention  _ they _ have to attend.”

“No, they don’t, because  _ this _ ?” He waved the letter in her face, trying to make his point. “This is ridiculous. They won’t be goin’ to detention for this at all, and if you pursue the matter, I’ll be goin’ straight to the superintendent and see what he has to say about it. We clear?” She just stared at him, disbelief written across her face as he turned to leave. “Nice talkin’ to ya, Linda. Let’s  _ not  _ do this again. See you at tomorrow’s soccer game.”

Sans closed the door behind him, then turned to Frisk, grinning easily at them.

“Ready to go, kid?”

_ *What happened? I heard yelling,*  _ they asked, a concerned look on their face.

“Ah, nothin’ to worry about. Gotcha outta detention, though.” They gaped up at him, eyes wide and he laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m  _ bone _ tastic, now come on. Grillby’s waitin’ on us.”


End file.
